


Beat 'Em Up, Up, Up

by Doteruna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Derek, Boxing, Fighting, High School AU, Homophobia, Hurt Stiles, I kind of made Jackson an asshole I'm sorry, M/M, MMA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doteruna/pseuds/Doteruna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles is transferred to a new school in his high school junior year, he realizes his new classmates don't take to gays very well. Luckily, someone is there to watch out for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles hitched his backpack a little higher over his shoulder as he stood a few meters away from the Weights building, looking through the door. He was new to Beacon Hills High School, a Junior, and as it was halfway through the year he was sort of exploring the campus, getting to know the feeling of the school. It was big, with several buildings and lots of kids and teachers. It was after school hours now, almost eight o'clock, but the lacrosse team was still practicing and there was one person still in the Weights room. He didn't look like a lacrosse player, but they'd already roughed Stiles up some so he wasn't taking any chances. He stayed out of sight of the man inside, but he looked longingly at the equipment and wished he had the guts to sign up for the class. 

Stiles grumbled as a few drops of rain hit his face. Glancing at the sky, he saw dark rainclouds above him and he realized it was time to go. He looked one more time at the man benching, only able to see grey sweatpants, a white wifebeater, and wrapped knuckles. He turned away and started to walk home, the rain pouring down as he moved behind the main building.

"Hey, look who it is."

Stiles froze as he heard the deep voice of the lacrosse team captain behind him. Peering over his shoulder, he saw three lacrosse players smirking at him, still in their pads and loosely holding their sticks. The captain was in the middle, a cocky grin on his face as rain dripped down his skin. It was that guy, who Stiles dubbed Asshole, that had smacked him around during lunch. 

"What'cha doing here, faggot?" Asshole called, and the other two players snickered. "Answer me, fag. What are you doing here?"

"I'm leaving," Stiles bit out, scared but not wanting to show it. "Don't worry, I'm going."

Asshole smiled again and stepped closer, jabbing the tip of his lacrosse stick into Stiles' chest. Stiles pretended it didn't hurt. 

"Not if I say you're not," Asshole prodded him again, and this time Stiles took a small step back. "I think you need a lesson."

"What?" Stiles got out before the other two were on him, punching him in the face and ribs as they tackled him to the ground. He yelled, but the pouring rain drowned his cry out as one of the boys clapped a hand over his mouth and smashed his head into the cement below him. The other delivered a crippling blow to his kidney before sitting on his legs, and Asshole strode over, sitting down heavily on Stiles' heaving chest. 

"Faggot," Asshole laughed, punching Stiles in the cheek. "Gay," the other cheek. 

"Fairy." Stiles' nose was bleeding.

"Homo." Stiles felt his ribs give a little, coughing. 

"Queer." Blood and rain were in his eyes, making it hard to see. 

Asshole grabbed his left hand and twisted, and Stiles screamed as his finger was snapped. 

"You should die, fag," Asshole cackled, and broke another finger. Stiles was sobbing, screaming, but the other two just laughed and kicked his legs. Asshole dropped his hand and reached for the other one, but before he could, he was ripped off of Stiles' chest.

Stiles was coughing, could barely see, but he heard the sound of fists hitting flesh and several grunts before a thump. He wiped the blood from his eyes and glanced up to see a tall figure, his back to Stiles, facing Asshole. The other two were on the ground, struggling to crawl away. 

"Get the fuck out of my way, Hale," Asshole demanded, but Stiles could hear the nervousness in his voice.

"Leave, Jackson, or I'm calling the cops," his mysterious savior snarled, and Asshole--Jackson--spat on the ground before turning away, cussing as he left. Stiles coughed, a stream of blood rolling down his chin, and the figure whipped around, walking to him.

Grey sweatpants riding low on cut hips, a tight white wifebeater, hands wrapped in bloodstained tape, and piercing green-grey eyes. 

Holy fuck, this guy was hot.

"Are you okay?" the guy asked, squatting down next to Stiles as the rain beat down on them. Stiles swallowed and nodded shakily. 

"Y-Yeah," he said, coughing one more time. "But I think my fingers are b-broken." 

The young man looked at Stiles' hand, frowning. 

"Can you stand?" he asked, grabbing Stiles' shoulder. The skinny boy climbed shakily to his feet, but when he took a step his knees buckled. The young man had a strong arm around his waist in an instant, letting Stiles lean on him. "Come on, to the Weights room. There's a first aid kit in there. What's your name?"

"S-Stiles Stilinski," Stiles ground out, biting his lips in pain as he struggled to breathe. He felt the arm around his waist tighten. 

"I'm Derek Hale."


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles cringed as Derek carefully straightened his fingers, placing them in a splint and taping them securely. 

"You sure you don't want to go to a hospital?" Derek asked, and Stiles shook his head. 

"My dad's the new Sherriff. He'd find out and I don't want him to know. He'd freak out."

"That's his job," Derek told him as he turned back to the expansive first aid kit, laid out on the bench beside them. "He's your dad, he's supposed to worry. There's only so much I can do."

"It's fine," Stiles replied, trying to make himself seem smaller next to the big man. Derek had stripped his shirt off him to feel his ribs, satisfied that they weren't broken or bruised, just sore. His skin was already bruising though, patches of purples and blues and reds smeared across his abdomen and one cheek. His nose had stopped bleeding, and Derek wet a strip of tissue and wiped the dried blood from his face. Stiles swallowed. "Thanks."

"You shouldn't let them push you around like that," Derek chastised him. "Jackson Whittemore is a complete asshole. If you let him beat on you, he'll do it every time he gets the chance."

"What else am I supposed to do?" Stiles said forlornly. "I'm just a skinny gay kid. I can't exactly fight back."

Stiles glanced up at Derek when he said 'gay'. The senior didn't even bat an eye; if fact, it seemed to make his frown more pronounced and his dark eyebrows lowered. 

"You think that's a legitimate reason? You're fucking dumb if that's what you think," he said lowly. "I fought them off."

"You're gay?" Stiles gaped, and Derek shrugged. 

"Bisexual. Jackson and his buddies tried to rough me up when they found out, same as you. I just beat the shit out of them until they got the message to leave me the fuck alone." Derek wiped one last time at the blood on Stiles' face before tossing the used gauze and wipes into the trashcan, packing the medkit back up. "Don't bend your fingers for a while. Don't get the splint wet, and come back here every morning before school starts and I'll wrap it again. Your fingers should be fine in a few weeks." He stood up, replacing the box on the shelf by the door where it belonged. "And if Jackson gives you any more crap, punch him, then tell me and I'll punch him too."

"Why should I?" Stiles asked, then winced as Derek lifted an eyebrow at him. "Sorry, that came out wrong. I meant, why are you helping me so much? I can't give you anything, I can't do anything for you."

Derek stared at him for a few seconds before answering. 

"I don't need an excuse to be a human being. Come by tomorrow morning, I'll rewrap your fingers."

 

The next morning, Stiles went to the Weights room before the school day started. The door was open, and he could hear the sounds of grunts and flesh slapping flesh before he went in. Derek was on the other side of the room, where a corner had been cleared out and several mats padded the floor. Derek was facing another kid, probably a Senior like himself, circling each other on the mats. He wore boxing shorts and his ankles and hands were both wrapped in tape, as were the other boy's. They were both breathing hard, and had obviously been fighting for a while. 

When Derek caught sight of Stiles, his eyes flicking over, the other boy launched forward, his leg sweeping up in a fast arc. Derek caught the kick and spun, dragging the other boy off balance before letting his own leg swing out, smacking it into his opponent's ribs before spinning and kicking his legs out. As he fell, Derek rolled on top of him and grabbed him in a choke hold. 

The other boy tapped within a few seconds. Derek let go, and helped him to his feet, waving Stiles closer. 

"Boyd, this is Stiles. Stiles, Vernon Boyd."

Boyd cracked his neck and held his hand out, which Stiles shook hesitantly. 

"You guys looked pretty cool," he said awkwardly, and Derek just huffed. 

"Come on, let's wrap your hand. Did you move it at all?"

"No," Stiles answered truthfully. He sat on the bench where Derek guided him as the older boy grabbed the first aid kit. Boyd wandered over curiously.

"Is this why Jackson's face was fucked up this morning?" he asked quietly, and Derek nodded. 

"He was being an asshole again."

"Derek kinda saved me from getting my face kicked in last night," Stiles admitted ruefully. Boyd just nodded sagely. "Um, how long have you been fighting?"

"Six years," Derek said.

"Four," Boyd answered. "Why?"

"Just wondering. You guys seemed pretty confident just now," Stiles told them as Derek retaped his fingers. "I didn't know the school offered that kind of course."

"It doesn't," Derek told him gruffly. "My uncle is the Weights teacher and he lets me use it whenever I want, so long as I clear it with administration. If you have proof of fighting experience, he lets kids spar here." 

"Oh," Stiles said. "That's kinda cool. Um, does he ever teach kids?"

"No," Derek said immediately. "He's a fucking asshole. Why?"

Stile shifted, embarrassed. 

"I was just wondering. I think it would be useful knowledge if Jackson tries to beat me up again."

"He'll try, definitely," Derek said. He rubbed his temple, as if thinking of something. "I guess, if you wanted, I could teach you. After school, I mean. I'm always here sparring anyways."

Boyd blinked, clearly surprised. Derek seemed even more shocked that he'd said that. Stiles just grinned.

"You would do that? For me?"

"No, I just need another sparring partner. And I don't want to have to come save your ass every time Jackson finds you." He scratched his jaw awkwardly, rubbing his stubble. Stiles beamed at him, his honey eyes shining.

"That would be amazing," he said. "Thank you so much!"


	3. Chapter 3

"Don't drop your hands," Derek told Stiles for the tenth time that morning. "Jesus, no wonder you always get hit in the face. Protect it."

"I only have one hand!" Stiles reminded him, waving the bandaged fingers around uselessly. "How long until I can use it again?" Derek sighed and motioned for Stiles to step off the mat, sitting him down on one of the benches and taking the fingers in his hands, bending the lightly-bandaged fingers. It had already been three weeks, and Stiles proclaimed daily that he was feeling much better. The bruises had long since faded, but Stiles' determination hadn't. He continued to show up to Boyd and Derek's sparring lessons every morning, despite only being allowed to watch or lift a few hands-free weights. Today, Boyd was home sick. 

"Does this hurt?" Derek asked, twisting the fingers back and forth. When Stiles shook his head, he unwrapped the bandages and tossed them into the trash can. "You can use them, just punch with your right hand. Wait another week or so before using both hands."

Stiles flexed his fingers carefully, happy that the breaks had been minor and a relatively easy fix. He'd been able to deflect the questions from his dad, saying he fell and tried to catch himself with that hand but smacked his face into the pavement. John Stilinski didn't look totally convinced, but he didn't say any more so Stiles considered himself safe from parental retribution. 

Now, as he let Derek loop boxing wraps around his left hand to match the right, he wondered if this MMA-fighting-beat up the bullies like a ninja plan was going to work. Jackson had mostly left him alone, only making crude remarks or trying to trip him when they encountered each other in the hallways, but that wasn't going to last forever. Eventually, Jackson or one of his lacrosse buddies was going to get cocky and try to beat him up again, and when that happened Stiles hoped he would be able to at least defend himself a bit better. 

"Come on," Derek said gruffly, stepping back onto the mat. Stiles followed, feeling puny and stick-like in his basketball shorts and T-shirt. Derek was in front of him, wearing only boxing shorts and tape on his knuckles. "I'm just going to teach you how to block basic punches, which is what Jackson'll be throwing at you. He's untrained, so his punches are gonna be sloppy and imprecise." He held his fists up in front of him, gesturing for Stiles to do the same. "Keep your hands high enough to cover your cheeks, as much of your face as you can, without blocking your sight. No, like this."

Derek moved Stiles' hands into the correct position before raising his fists again. 

"If I try for a hook, like this, you're gonna move your hand up to block it." He demonstrated, and Stiles followed his movements like a puppet. "Same goes for the other side. If you get boxed in, need to protect your face instead of throw punches, you're gonna cover your head like this...."

It went on for an hour before the bell rang, signalling the beginning of classes for the day. Stiles stripped off the tape and grabbed his backpack, but Derek called after him, "Come by after school, we can work on your flexibility!"

Stiles nodded and blushed as he hurried out the door. 

 

He passed Jackson in the hallway at the end of the day, heading for the Weights room, looking at the floor and trying to rush by before he or his cronies noticed him. No such luck. 

"Hey, Stilinski! Still alive?" Jackson called out, laughing as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever said. "Want another beating, fairy?" Stiles just kept walking, ignoring the harsh taunts and offensive language as the lacrosse players got louder and ruder. One of them tripped him, but he caught himself before he fell and just ran for it, pushing students out of the way and almost hitting a wall before he found an empty classroom and stole inside, slamming the door behind him and sinking down to the floor, tears streaming from his face. 

He tried wiping them away but they wouldn't stop, and finally he gave up and sobbed, burying his face in his red hoodie sleeves in a weak attempt to stifle his cries. He waited until the corridor went silent, everyone already on their way home. He stayed curled up in the corner for another twenty minutes, his nose running and eyes red, before he heard a light tapping on the door.

 

Derek waited for ten minutes before sticking his head out the door of the Weights room, glancing around as if Stiles was right outside. Obviously, he wasn't, and so Derek threw on some sweats and a wifebeater over his gym shorts before heading out to look for the Junior. It wasn't like Stiles to be late; each morning for the last three weeks, he'd been outside the Weights room on time or earlier than Derek had been, ever the punctual person himself. Plus, Stiles had looked so excited that Derek had invited him back when he left.

Derek wasn't ignorant or stupid, despite what people said about him. He was a great fighter, but he was also smart, and he wasn't completely stupid when it came to the blushes, or the quick smiles, or the adoring looks the smaller boy gave him. Being bisexual, it didn't bother him. Stiles was cute, adorable even, but that just wasn't Derek's type. He preferred fighters like himself, people who could stand up for themselves, who weren't afraid to do what was right like so many kids his age were. 

Even so, Derek turned his back or said something gruff whenever those smiles were flashed at him. Not because he wasn't interested, but because it made him want to smile back. Derek Hale didn't smile, he was too manly for that. At least, that's what everyone thought about him. You didn't become one of the youngest pro-fighters if you were soft and squishy and cuddly. 

Therefore, when Stiles didn't show up after all the other students had gone home, he went looking. Stiles didn't forget to come, nor did he call Derek, so that means something happened that prohibited him from letting Derek know he was coming. Derek went to the main building first, starting at one end and meandering around the halls, peeking into the occasional classroom. No sign of that trademark red hoodie that Stiles loved so much. 

Derek passed the small English classroom before he heard it. Quiet, almost silent sobbing, interrupted by sniffs every few seconds. He took several steps backwards before looking through the small window in the door to see that red sweatshirt covering hitching shoulders, a fuzzy head buried in the arms. Stiles was tucked into the corner of the wall and a bookshelf a few yards from the door, and his head shot up as Derek tapped on the glass. His eyes were red and his nose was runny, and Derek felt his heart clench. Stiles wasn't bruised anywhere, which meant he hadn't been beaten up again, but there was a reason he was crying. 

"Hey," Derek said quietly as he opened the door and slipped inside, standing in front of the younger boy. "You'll never stand up to Jackson if you act like that. Come on, let's go train."

Stiles sniffled one last time, wiping his nose on his sleeve, before he reached up a shaking hand and took Derek's.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles grinned madly as he swung at Derek, the Senior easily ducking underneath his fist. Stiles kicked his leg out, catching Derek in the knee before Derek's open palm smacked softly into the side of his face.

"I win," Derek stated, and Stiles sighed dramatically.

"Duh," he said, slapping Derek's hand away from his cheek. They'd been sparring for well over an hour in the heat of the non-air conditioned Weights room before moving the mats outside, where the sun beat down on them but at least there was a breeze. It had been just over a month since Derek had found Stiles crying in the classroom, but the Junior had bounced back immediately, throwing himself into his training. His left hand was completely healed, and he was making extraordinary progress, even by Derek's standards. He was beginning to pack on muscle, daily workouts in the Weights room and the track around the football field toning his body with every passing day. He was working hard, meeting Derek in the morning to spar and after school to lift before taking his old, run-down Jeep home to finish his homework and have dinner with his dad. 

Derek learned quickly that Stiles' mom had been killed by a drunk driver when he was thirteen, and that his dad was trying hard to raise him on his own and still be a good Sheriff. He learned that Stiles had ADHD (no surprise there) and that he had an unhealthy addiction to curly fries. He was seventeen, turning eighteen in four months, and wanted a new Batman beadspread for his present. He learned that Stiles had to leave his 'best bro of all time' behind when his dad was transferred, and that Stiles' dad didn't know he was gay. Derek also learned that Stiles had been bullied at every single school he'd been to by jocks like Jackson. 

On the other hand, Stiles only learned a few things about Derek. He was nineteen, going on twenty, because he'd been held back a year, taking the 9th grade twice for reasons he didn't explain. Something about a fire. He learned that Derek hated his uncle being the Weights teacher but tolerated it because it was the best way to work out, short of an expensive gym membership.

That was about it.

"How's your dad doing?" Derek asked as they resumed sparring, both hands and feet taped. They were practicing Muay Thai right now, although Derek felt more like it was helping Stiles along rather than teaching; Stiles had a natural talent.

"Great," Stiles replied, smiling as he used his foot to deflect a low kick. "He's been sticking to his diet for a few months now, I'm surprised he hasn't broken down and gotten himself a congratulatory cake by now." He flicked his elbow up, his knee following, forcing Derek to dance back before the older boy swept his leg up in a roundhouse. Stiles wasn't fast enough to duck, bringing his hands up just in time to block most of the blow. He returned with a solid kick to Derek's exposed kidney, but Derek just grabbed his leg and pulled him in close, chest to chest. 

"Never let them grab you like this," Derek said, his nose only inches from Stiles. Stiles looked up and unconsciously licked his lips, and Derek's eyes were drawn to the movement. He hesitated, feeling Stiles' breath against his lips.

"Um, do you, I don't know, wanna come over?" Stiles blabbed, falling backwards awkwardly as Derek released his leg. "My dad wanted to meet you, considering I'm spending like, all my time with you." He scratched his neck nervously. "You don't have to, I just thought that maybe you'd like to get away from the creepy uncle I've never actually met."

"Yeah, I'd like that," Derek replied after a second. "I'd really like that."

 

Oh my god you guys I'm so sorry these chapters are so short and shitty. I have like five things I want to do but none of them make sense and I'm stuck in a whirlpool of no plot ideas and really bad plot ideas. What do you guys think should happen? I want there to be a good Derek-supports-Stiles-by-holding-his-hand-in-front-of-everyone type of moment and like Jackson being a major douche but I just don't know how to make that happen ._. help me readerrrssss you're my only hope


	5. Chapter 5

"Stilinski!"

Stiles sighed. Jackson again, of course. The Senior just wouldn't leave him alone, teasing him at every chance he got after Stiles ran away in the hallway. That had been three weeks ago, and Stiles was feeling newer now, fresh, because Derek finally had to try to keep up with his fighting, and because the dinner Derek had with him and his dad had actually been enjoyable. John was actually nice to the Senior.

"You're getting a lot faster," Derek said as he ducked a fist. "How's your flexibility?"

"Better," Stiles replied, his leg shooting up in a show of his newfound abilities. Derek pushed it out of the way, but not before Stiles spun and delivered a strong jab to Derek's side. Derek grunted, and Stiles grinned. He was about to swing again when he heard a voice behind him.

"Oh, Derek, this is who you've been talking about." 

Stiles turned around to see a tall, well-built man standing a few feet from the mat, hands in the pockets of his gym shorts. He had a staff lanyard around his neck with slicked-back brown hair above tired, inquisitive eyes. His smile set something off inside Stiles; he had a feeling he knew who this was.

"Mr. Hale, right?" he said, extending a hand. The man smiled wider and took it.

"Call me Peter when we're not in class, you're Derek's friend after all. Have you guys been spending a lot of time together?"

Derek growled.

"Training," Peter added slyly. "Spending a lot of time training. You like the Weights room?"

"Yeah, it's nice," Stiles said lamely, a little uneasy. This teacher was creepy. Peter just smirked and nodded. 

"That's great. I'm happy Derek's found someone to bond with after the--"

"Shut up," Derek interrupted his uncle. "What are you doing here?"

"Why, just coming to check up on my dear nephew," Peter chuckled, clapping a hand on Derek's tanned shoulder. "And reminding you that the bell's about to ring."

As if on cue, the bell rang, and Stiles startled. He grabbed his backpack, throwing a loose hoodie over his black wifebeater (what? they were comfy). He gave one last look at Peter before smiling and waving to Derek, who sullenly lifted a few fingers in return as Stiles bounced out the door. Too late, he realized that Stiles had forgotten one of his notebooks. 

"Great, now I've gotta hunt him down," he grumbled, but he actually didn't mind spending the time to look for Stiles. The kid could be a mile away by now, with his energy. Derek slung his backpack over one shoulder and trudged out, still in sweats and his customary wifebeater that Stiles seemed to have copied. Not that he cared. Nope, not all. 

 

Stiles was jogging through the courtyard to his first class when he spotted a familiar shock of blonde hair. Jesus, that guy was everywhere.

"Hey, asshole!" Jackson yelled at him as he passed by. "What, no response? No crying? No running to your gay little boyfriend?"

At that, Stiles stopped. Jackson grinned. 

"Is that a sore spot with you, Stilinski?" he teased as he moved closer, several other students in the courtyard eyeing them. Jackson's cronies flanked their leader, grinning and smirking. Stiles recognized two of them. Jackson's eyes dropped to the tape wrapped around Stiles' knuckles, where he'd forgotten to peel it off in his rush to get out the door. He grabbed the closest hand, even though Stiles took a tiny step backwards. "What, been punching a bag? Learning to fight, like your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Stiles replied softly. A dozen retorts were swirling in his brain, but he knew that every single one of them would make Jackson angry enough to punch him. 

"Denying it like the slut you are, faggot. Stupid. You fuck him yet?" Jackson sneered, and Stiles tried to tug his hand out of Jackson's grip, to no avail. "Been fighting? Think you're good enough to beat me?"

Stiles didn't answer, but that seemed to be the wrong response. Jackson curled his lip back and dropped Stiles' hand.

"Little whore. Fighter wannabe. I should--"

He stopped suddenly, looking at something behind Stiles' shoulder. Before Stiles could turn around, he felt strong fingers land on his shoulder.

"Got something to say, Jackson?" Derek asked, his voice dangerously low. Jackson licked his lips nervously, but seemed confident enough to continue. 

"Yeah, I do, Hale," he spat. "You've been teaching this faggot to fight, what the fuck? Fucking dumbasses, both of you. I should pound both of you right now."

"Try it," Stiles quipped, before his brain caught up. Jackson stared at him, surprised. Then his features hardened. 

"I'll do it," he sneered. "I'll hit you. I did it before. I can do it again."

"Prove it. I won't move," Stiles taunted, a shocking amount of courage radiating up his shoulder where Derek's heavy hand was. Jackson gritted his jaw, then cocked his fist.

Stiles didn't even flinch when Jackson punched him, right on the cheek, just letting the force snap his head to the side. He felt Derek's fingers tighten painfully on his shoulder.

He slowly straightened, looking straight at Jackson, who was frowning in confusion, and then fear when Stiles smirked. 

Stiles headbutted him, slamming the side of his forehead into Jackson's nose. Jackson made a noise between a grunt and a shriek, falling back into his cronies, clutching his face as blood dripped down his chin. He looked at Stiles with wide eyes, but Stiles just turned his back to him, hiking his backpack higher up before taking a step away from the scene. 

Everyone was watching them. A few of the students even had their phones out, recording the incident, and Stiles gulped. His confidence was gone, deflated after his one act of defiance. He wanted to curl in on himself and disappear, but then he felt fingers intertwine with his and his head whipped to the side. 

Derek wasn't looking at him, instead glaring at all the students around them as he held Stiles' hand. The whole courtyard was silent except for Jackson's noisy, wet breathing as his friends wadded tissues under his nose. Stiles swallowed again, then stepped forward, walking proudly through the students to the safety of the English building. Derek followed him, his palm sweaty against Stiles', as the crowd parted to let them pass. Stiles stopped in front of the English building, knowing that Derek's first class was on the other side of campus. 

"What are you doing here?" he asked quietly, trying to ignore the throng of kids watching them from several yards away. Derek held out the notebook he'd forgotten.

"You needed this," he said simply. Stiles took it and nodded, unsure of what to say. Derek was still gripping his hand tightly.

"Don't let any of them put you down," Derek told him. "Not a single one of them matter. You did great. I'm proud of you."

With that, Derek leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to Stiles' lips, kissing him gently before squeezing his hand and walking away, disappearing around the corner of the building as Stiles stood there, shell-shocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chappy was not so shitty? I think I know where this story is going now :D finally. And thank you guys so much for giving me some plot ideas, your suggestions really help my mind get in the groove of writing. Keep commenting ;)


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles pushed his face farther into his pillow after school that day, squeezing it as hard as he could as he remembered the events of the school day. 

The crowd had gone into an uproar once Derek kissed Stiles, some booing, some cheering, and some just excited to see some action. Derek had disappeared in an instant, leaving Stiles to blush furiously and flail until he, too, got away from the other students. 

Now, hours later, he was face-down on his bed, giggling into his pillow like a little schoolgirl, still blushing and giving a tiny smile as he remembered the way Derek's lips had felt against his. Chapped and rough, but gentle, just a press of skin on skin before the senior turned away. 

"I'm proud of you," he'd said. That thought filled Stiles with joy. Derek was proud of him. He liked him. Derek liked Stiles. 

Stiles giggled again.

 

The next morning at school, in the Weights room, Derek met Stiles as he always had, taped fists and a ready and waiting mat for them to spar on. Stiles just grinned and shrugged off his backpack, stretching for a second before joining Derek on the mat. Everything went normally, until the bell rang and Derek gave Stiles a small kiss goodbye. 

Later, when they met up in the hallway between lunch and the last period of the day, Derek intertwined his fingers with Stiles', holding his hand as they strode past the staring students. At first, Stiles was nervous and worried that someone would start picking on Derek too, or Derek would get embarrassed and leave, or something like that. But as the day wore on and people seemed to accept it, Stiles began to relax. That was, at least, until he saw Jackson.

The jock had a white bandage across his nose, and the center area of his face was bruised and tender-looking. When he caught sight of Stiles, the junior faltered, but then Jackson turned away and Stiles straightened, feeling Derek's hand tighten around his own. 

After school, Derek walked Stiles to his Jeep. He seemed determined to do the whole boyfriend thing correctly, but once they reached the old car he stopped awkwardly. 

"I was wondering," he began, then licked his lips. Stiles just smiled and waited. "Two things. First, to make it official, would you be my boyfriend?"

"Duh," Stiles replied, smirking and punching Derek's shoulder lightly. "I thought that was obvious. Second thing?"

Derek swallowed before he spit everything out in a nervous rush.

"I have a fight Friday night. Can you come?"

Stiles blinked, processing what Derek had said, before nodding.

"Of course. What time?"

 

 

Stiles held his breath as Derek's opponent stepped out into the light of the ring, then swore. The guy was big, easily as broad as Derek and probably three or four inches taller. His name was Rex Something-or-other, but Stiles didn't bother remembering his last name because Derek was cracking his neck, eyeing his enemy. His green eyes were narrowed and alert as they finally turned towards Stiles, and Derek winked at him. Peter sighed from his chair next to the ring.

"Get your head in the game, Derek," he chastised, and Derek scowled. Stiles did too; he liked it when Derek winked. 

"It is," Derek growled before he turned back to Rex. The big man, only about twenty-five, was heavily muscled and tall, using his size to look down at Derek. Peter popped Derek's mouthpiece in and the senior stepped towards the center of the ring, where the referee had them greet each other before signalling the start of the match. 

Rex made some kind of gesture that Stiles assumed was supposed to be offensive, but the MMA gloves he wore kind of ruined the motion. Derek just growled and raised his hands, staring at Rex. The big man waited a second, then attacked, one hand darting out only to be smacked away by Derek's. A thick leg swung up next, and Derek caught it, twisting it before letting his other hand fly. 

The two men traded blows, both landing some, until Rex faked a punch and Derek's hand snapped up, leaving his ribs exposed. Rex slammed his foot up into the vulnerable area, and Derek was pushed back a foot, then another as Rex planted an elbow into his cheek. Stiles gasped as Derek staggered back, blood streaming down his face, and Rex smiled, stalking forward. Stiles watched as Derek made eye contact with him, smirked, and spun around, his foot whipping up to smack into Rex's face, then kept spinning so the other heel connected solidly as well. Rex fell heavily to the ground as Derek returned to the ready stance, but his opponent was out cold. 

The audience erupted into cheers as the referee signaled the end of the match, grabbing Derek's bloodied fist and raising it up. Peter climbed into the ring and Stiles scrambled after him. Derek was grinning fiercely as he spit out his mouthguard, and he grabbed Stiles' hand and yanked him in close, pushing a bruising kiss to his lips. Stiles threw his arms around Derek's shoulders, then pulled back as he felt Derek's blood rub onto his cheek. The crowd was still cheering wildly as they moved from the ring, following Peter to the locker rooms reserved for the winners. 

 

They were kissing again as Derek shut his apartment door behind him, the older boy stripping off his T-shirt before helping Stiles get out of his. The lights were off, the apartment silent as they undressed each other, quiet except for moans of arousal and the sound of skin on skin. Derek guided them to his small bedroom, his lips still sealed to Stiles', before they broke apart, panting for breath.

"You were amazing," Stiles whispered as he kissed the split skin on Derek's cheek. "So hot, do you know that?"

Derek just groaned and kissed Stiles again, lowering them onto the bed so that Stiles was on his back, Derek kneeling above him. They were both completely naked now, and he took in the sight of Stiles' now-toned body wriggling impatiently beneath him, honey-brown eyes staring up at him. 

"Well, don't wait. Let's do this."


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles moaned as Derek kissed him again, fingers trailing down to play with his nipples before continuing to his crotch. The calloused hands gripped Stiles tight, pumping him a few times as Derek moved his mouth lower, kissing first Stiles' pink nipples, then his stomach. He stopped his stroking only to lick a long stripe up Stiles' cock, making the Junior cry out, but he didn't stop there. Derek pushed Stiles' knees onto his broad shoulders and pressed his face to Stiles' hole, licking around the puckered entrance as Stiles shuddered above him. 

"Oh my god, Derek," Stiles groaned as Derek licked at him, delving in a bit deeper each time. Stiles could feel the wet organ massaging his muscles, loosening him before Derek added one strong finger alongside his tongue, which he pistoned in and out of Stiles several times before adding a second finger, licking his way back up Stiles' body to his mouth. "That's so gross," Stiles complained, but he kissed Derek anyway, tongues tangling as Derek slowly stretched Stiles open with his long fingers. The younger boy was clutching Derek's shoulders, his short fingernails digging into the tanned skin, as Derek fucked him open on two fingers. 

"So tight," he muttered after several moments, scissoring his fingers as Stiles kissed his neck wetly. The boy blushed. 

"Well, I've never, uh..." He trailed off, and Derek leaned back to look at him in surprise. 

"I thought you said you were gay?"

Stiles' cheeks turned an even darker red. 

"I am. I've like, kissed guys and stuff, a couple handjobs, but nothing like this," he admitted, then squeaked as Derek crooked his fingers inside of him. 

"Well, we'll just have to fix that, won't we?" he asked, his lips curled into a predatory grin. Stiles nearly came with that expression alone. 

"Yeah, yes, right now. We need to fix that right now," he babbled, jerking his hips in a vain attempt to get Derek's fingers deeper inside him. Instead, Derek pulled his hand away, reaching for a drawer in his bedside table as Stiles whined, squirming with the new emptiness. "Derek, come onnnnnn."

"Hold on, this is definitely something we need lube for," Derek hushed him, grabbing the bottle and squeezing more than was probably necessary into his palm. He rolled a condom on before smearing the lube onto his cock, then rubbing the excess into Stiles' hole as the boy shook his hips and groaned. "Ready?"

"Duh," Stiles grinned, then he gave something between a cry and a moan as Derek pushed at his entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against the slick muscle. The head popped inside and Stiles jerked, his hands flying up to wrap around Derek's biceps. Derek pushed in farther, steadily making little thrusts until his balls were smashed into Stiles' cheeks. The boy's eyes were closed tight, his teeth clamped together, but he opened them when Derek pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. He opened his mouth to say something, but it was torn from him as Derek pulled almost all the way back out, then pressed in again, tortuously slow. Once Stiles seemed to relax, Derek licked a line up his neck before taking a deep breath and pounding down hard. 

Stiles cried out in pleasure as Derek stabbed into his prostate over and over, mercilessly thrusting in and out. He fucked Stiles hard, and after a few minutes he reached a sweaty hand back to Stiles' cock, stroking up and down in time with his thrusts. Stiles was crying out with each movement, little pleas of "Derek!" and "Harder, please, harder!" sounding just like a porno. He leaned back down and kissed Stiles sloppily, his hips jerking on autopilot, before he wickedly twisted his wrist and whispered in Stiles' ear, "Come for me."

Stiles came with a small scream of pleasure, his velvety walls clamping down on Derek's cock; the heat proved to be too much and Derek came too, with a deep, throaty groan of "Stilessssssss....."

When they both came down from their orgasmic high, Derek rolled off of Stiles and onto his side, pulling out carefully. Stiles turned his head and kissed Derek, and the older boy kissed back, hard, before sticking his arm under Stiles' head as a pillow. 

"I think I love you," he whispered, and Stiles ducked his head, tucking it under Derek's and wriggling so he could wrap both arms around him. 

"I love you too."


End file.
